Masked Man
by coonassblondie
Summary: The Room of Requirement does not recognize blood status, and it had a way of knowing exactly what we need, even if we don't realize it ourselves.
1. The Room of Requirement

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it, and I'm certainly not J.K. Rowling. I can't even fake a Brit accent.

**A/N**: This little one-off is dedicated to dracosnewgirl, as a thank you for reviewing all my stories! The only thing I have to say about this, really, is that it's _hard_ to write without using any dialogue!

She paced the required three times past the stretch of blank wall, focusing on him. After the third pass, a door popped into existence, and she knocked hesitantly. The door cracked open just enough for her to slide in unobtrusively. She stood with her back to the wall, still unsure if she was suffering from a case of temporary insanity. He chose that moment to acknowledge her presence, looking up at her with a knowing smile. A smile that seemed so foreign in his pale features. She felt herself drawn closer to him, as a moth to a flame, and she took slow, measured and deliberate steps toward the center of the room, to where he stood next to a low wet bar. He held out a shot glass filled to the brim with an amber liquid. Firewhiskey, she realized as she threw the liquid courage into the back of her throat and felt the burn all the way into the pit of her empty stomach. The room, anticipating her need, promptly provided a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of cool, clear water.

He quirked an eyebrow at this and she shrugged. No need to tell him that the thought of this meeting, this rendezvous, had had her stomach in knots all through dinner. He didn't need to know that she had picked at her mashed potatoes, creating rivers of gravy across her plate, that she had crumbled up her tart to make it appear that she had eaten some of it. She had taken off as soon as it was late enough to do so without raising too many awkward questions, and hidden in her dorm until now.

He picked up a ripe red strawberry and held it out to her. She couldn't resist, she took a bit from the sweet fruit, some of the juice running down her chin. He pulled a clean, starched white handkerchief with DLM embroidered in green in one corner and used it to meticulously wipe the juice off of his fingers, before hooking his forefinger under her chin and lifting her face to look into his eyes.

She found she could easily lose herself in his mercurial gaze. She hadn't missed the heated looks he had thrown her over the past couple weeks, in the great hall and during their patrols. His face slowly came towards her, his lips barely brushing hers in a questioning way. He pulled back for a moment, anticipating her response, and when he saw the want in her amber eyes, he knew that he was allowed. He kissed her again, all the passion he had mistaken for hatred all those years conveyed in his heated embrace. He pulled her to him, wanting to feel her against him, under him, _inside_ him. She responded in kind, meeting his advances halfway, matching his tongue with hers, thrust for thrust.

She felt herself being moved backwards, and started when she felt something hit the backs of her legs. She looked down to see a low sofa, in front of a warm hearth, ablaze in all it's glory. He sat down, pulling her down into his lap, and she noticed for the first time that he was barefoot. She giggled at the thought that he was a normal man, if a little stuffy at times, and like all normal men, had ugly feet. She wiggled around in his lap, proceeding to remove her own shoes and wiggle her socked feet in front of the flames. The movement caused him to groan in response, and she turned to him to ask if he was all right, but the question died on her lips at the sight of him.

His head was thrown back, his long blond hair mussed up where he had run his hands through it. She liked his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, it helped soften his angular features, even though he usually kept it tied back with a bit of black silk ribbon. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, as if sleeping. She knew that he was trying to calm himself, she could feel the results of her wiggling underneath her. She leaned into him, kissing his long pale neck softly, then looked up for a reaction. He brought his arm down from the back of the lounge and wrapped it around her, pulling her head against his chest. He shook his head lightly as her hand wandered into his lap to help him with his "problem". He took her wandering hand and held it against his heart. She could feel the fast staccato beat under her palm, and looked at him in wonder.

Was he nervous? Why? Questions raced through her mind but before she could voice any concerns, he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, causing all concerns to fly away, and leaving a warm fuzzy feeling in her brain. She wasn't sure if the cause was the firewhiskey or her close proximity to him, or perhaps a mixture of both. When he looked down at her through those molten silver eyes, she decided she didn't much care.

A few hours later, she left the room again, holding his hand as far as she could reach, eventually letting go and watching his hand drop to his side, his facial expression unreadable. He had slipped on his Slytherin mask again, and it made her heart hurt to think that it would be another twenty-four hours before she would see the real man again.

**A/N 2:** I think this may have potential, but for the moment it's a one-shot. Review and let me know what you think, and if I get enough response, I'll consider adding chapters. This is a totally new ship for me, so please no flamethrowers?


	2. Late Night Meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. I'm not making any money. Yada yada yada.

**A/N**: Since enough people asked me to add to this, I did. I'm not promising a regular update schedule, and those that know me know I wouldn't keep to it even if I did. I have a lot of other stories already in the works, so don't be surprised if it's anywhere between a couple weeks to a couple months before I update, although I promise to try not to go three months. I don't have a job now, so updates may come a bit faster. The chapters probably won't be uniform either, I'm trying to just go with the flow. As always, please leave me a review. This chapter is dedicated to The EvilBunny for leaving me such a long and detailed review.

* * *

Hermione walked briskly back to the Gryffindor common room, thinking that if she hurried, she could get there before curfew. She breathlessly gave the password to the portrait, who gave her a disapproving look before swinging open to let her in.

After a quick visual inventory of the common room, she plopped down into a squashy armchair in front of the fireplace, next to Harry, who was staring steadfastly at the chessboard. His pieces were shouting suggestions at him, trying desperately to save themselves. After a precursory glance, Hermione could tell that he was in trouble, and his best bet would to be to lose to Ron, yet again, with his dignity in tact. She huffed and reached in front of him to move one of his pieces, helping him stave off Ron's "_check mate!"_ for a few more moves.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked, looking up and noticing the extra presence in his personal space. Hermione huffed and clicked her teeth at him.

"I was in the library. I wanted to double check something Professor Vector lectured on earlier in class." Hermione replied, holding her breath slightly, wondering if Ron's gullibility was going to hold out yet again.

"Oh. Arithmancy. Right." Ron replied, going back to his game, not even noticing her sudden exhalation. Harry wasn't quite so unobservant, but before he could question her actions, Ron moved a piece and threw his hands up in the air with a loud, "I win! Still the king!" Harry just shook his head in response. Hermione took this as her cue to leave.

"I'm kind of tired, guys, I'm going to bed."

"What, no reviewing tonight?" Ron couldn't help but ask in a slightly teasing tone.

"No, I'm a bit ahead and I really am tired. We'll catch up tomorrow night." Hermione grinned internally at the stunned expressions on her two best friends' faces. She really did need to do some reviewing for NEWTS, but she knew that if she stuck around much longer, the questions about where she had been and what she had been doing would be even harder to circumvent. Harry was paranoid enough as it was, she didn't want to give him any more reason for worry. She bid the boys a good night and headed upstairs to her private dorm. Being head girl certainly had its advantages along with its responsibilities.

Hermione turned around in her bed, yet again, twisting the sheets between her feet and getting tangled in her bedclothes. She slapped the sheet underneath her with both hands and let out an irritated huff before kicking the bedclothes off and flicking her wand at her bedside lantern. She opened the top drawer of her bedside table and rooted around, pulling out a small journal with a small grin of satisfaction. She pulled the charmed quill of the top of it, remembering with a small degree of satisfaction the look on Draco's face as she had introduced him to the wonders of Velcro.

She remembered the conversation as if it had been yesterday. She and Draco had had patrol together, and he had failed to notice that his one of his highly polished shoes had come untied, and he tripped over the laces as they made their way up the grand staircase in the entrance hall to start their rounds. Hermione, who was already nervous about sharing a patrol with the Slytherin Prince, who for all practical purposes hated the very fibre of her being, started giggling at him, unable to help herself. He looked up from retying his shoe, surprised by the girlish laughter. He couldn't help but smirk as he asked her,

"What, you've never tripped over your shoelaces?"

"Nope," Hermione replied with an air of superiority.

"Come on, Granger, everyone has tripped over their laces at some point." Draco argued.

"I can honestly say I haven't, Malfoy, and I can prove it." Hermione replied, her own smirk crossing her features.

"Oh?" Draco asked, wavering between irritated and amused.

"Yep, see?" Hermione stated, pulling her robes up over her trainers, showing off the two straps across the top of each one. "No laces." With that, she knelt down and yanked one of the straps, creating a ripping sound, pulled it a bit tighter, then stuck it back down.

"You…ripped it?" Draco replied, obviously a bit confused as he started at her trainers, "And fixed it again. What are you using, magi-glue? That stuff's permanent, you know."

Hermione grinned and shook her head in reply, "As you've felt compelled to remind me every day for the past 7 years, I'm a muggle-born, Malfoy. It's not magi-glue. I bought these trainers in a muggle store. Instead of laces, they have Velcro straps."

"Velcro? What in the name of Merlin is that?" Draco asked, still confused. Hermione palmed her face and grinned as she shook her head. She would never get used to the ignorance of pureblooded wizards. With that, she took off down the hall at a brisk pace, intent on doing her patrol, Draco following her, asking constant questions and stating crazy theories about the many and varied uses of Velcro.

Hermione grinned to herself at the memory as she yanked the pen off the journal and opened it up to the middle and started writing on a blank page.

_Hey, are you awake by any chance?_

**As a matter of fact, yes. I was just finishing up my reviewing, since someone kept me distracted all evening.**

_I have no idea what you are referring to._

**Of course you don't. What are you doing up so late, I would have thought you'd been asleep hours ago. Why, it's almost two in the morning, love!**

_Thank you, Captain Obvious. I think Harry is on to us._

**We could just tell them, you know. It would certainly make things much easier.**

_You can keep telling yourself that, but it doesn't make it any more true, you know. I'll tell them in my own time, but to be honest, I don't think they'll take it well at all. Especially Ron, I think he's still carrying a torch for me._

**Of course he is. He's convinced since you snogged him in the heat of battle that you've forever had an undying love for him. And people call **_**me**_** arrogant!**

_People call you arrogant because you _are_ arrogant, you prat. If you're up anyway, do you want to continue this conversation in person?_

**Have you ever known me to turn down a good snog session?**

_That's not what I meant and you know it._

**I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes. You know I love you.**

_I know you do. I love you too, see you then._

Hermione shut her charmed diary with a chuckle at her quasi-boyfriend. If someone had told her anytime in the past six years that she would be repeating her seventh year after the final battle and fall head over heels for Draco Malfoy, she would have punched them in the face in a similar fashion hat she had punched him in third year. Then she would have had them sent to St. Mungo's to live out their days with Gilderoy Lockhart. She giggled again at the thought of being as crazy as the old defense teacher as she threw her school robes on over her pajama pants and tank top and slipped her trainers on over her socked feet.

Ten minutes later, she walked the required three times in front of the blank wall, requesting a private room where she could be alone with Draco, and slipped into the room and grinned at the plush carpet, the wet-bar off to the side with its bowl of fruit and bottles of butter beer and the low couch in front of the crackling fire. Perfect. Five minutes later, the door cracked open and her blonde Adonis crept through the door and let the mask slip off his face yet again as he smiled at her. Neither one noticed the head floating in mid-air down the hall with messy black hair and wide, shocked green eyes.


End file.
